The Night of Being Vewwy, Vewwy Qwiet
by SilverShadow44
Summary: When Artemus yearns to cook a favorite French dish, Jim offers to hunt up the main ingredient. But is it Rabbit Season or Duck Season? Or West Season? A Happy April Fool's Day to all my fellow Westies and cartoon lovers!
1. Teaser - MADE YOU LOOK!

**The Night of Being Vewwy, Vewwy Qwiet**

 _Refs: "TNOT Surreal McCoy"/"Rabbit Fire"_

The Wanderer had wandered all right, to the unfamiliar point of becoming lost. While Silas fumed and Orrin apologized over the set of brand new rail maps sent from Washington that they'd been using, even Artemus struggled to make sense of the twisty track directions.

"We definitely should have taken that left turn at Albequerque," Arte sighed. "I have no idea where we are right now."

Neither did Jim, and he thought he knew practically every inch of New Mexico before this had happened. But the forested area the train tracks led into were like no place he could recall out of hand. What's more, they would have to continue on along the strange track before they could get to a junction to turn the train around, and who knew for how long a distance?

"Do we have supplies enough?"

"For the moment," Arte said. "I suppose I should consider what I can make us for dinner. We may be stuck in these woods for a while before we reach the main lines." The crafty Secret Service agent began rummaging around in the train's small pantry area, pulling out an assortment of vegetables, canned tomato products and hard cheese. " _Come direbbe mia Prozia Maude1 . . . ._ aww, heck, Jim! I just can't get in the mood for Italian food again! You know what we should have? Something French." The gourmand of the Secret Service got a dreamy look on his face. "I know what _I_ could really go for – _lapin chasseur_! Rabbit hunter style."

"Sounds good," Jim said. He'd been getting a little tired of pasta himself, even if his partner could make anything taste like a gourmet restaurant meal.

"Except we don't have any rabbit," Arte sighed again. "Guess our square meal will have to be back to square one."

"Maybe not." Jim looked out at the woodlands they were in. The Wanderer had pulled over to a siding too narrow to allow the turnaround, but while they were here, what harm could there be in a little recreation? "I might be able to hunt one up out there." _Provided Arte didn't come along, of course_. It amazed Jim how his partner could be as silent as a mouse when it came to sneaking through buildings or a bad guy's secret hideout, but sounded like a dyspeptic herd of bison while trying to stalk through a forest – a city slicker's handicap. Jim, having learned tracking skills from his Indian friends as a child, could sneak up on a rabbit for sure. While Arte rearranged the pantry closet, Jim went to his sliding panel of weapons and took down a low-caliber hunting rifle. "You get out your recipe, and I'll bring back the rabbit."

"Just don't get lost," Arte called as he went to tell the engineers about the hunting expedition.

1 As my Great Aunt Maude would say . . . .


	2. The Lostest Forest

Jim gave a snort at his partner's lack of confidence in him, then went silent as he stepped down from the Wanderer. As if he'd misplace any object as large as a train in these woods! Arte might put his faith in maps and compasses, but Jim's sense of direction was impeccable. He kept to a straight path as he left the train behind in search of a long-eared dinner ingredient, taking in deep breaths of the fresh woodland air. This might not be as exciting as their usual line of work, but this was the life! And yet, as he kept to his path and searched the ground for rabbit holes, a strange feeling of unease began to come over him. He couldn't understand why. He'd gone on countless expeditions through forests all his life, and yet there was something just a little bit different about _this_ forest. Something odd and unnatural. He couldn't quite place it. He was really going to have to figure out exactly what part of the state they'd detoured into once he and Arte got back to civilization. Where had those misbegotten rail maps led them?

Twenty minutes later, and still with no rabbit den in sight, Jim looked up from the ground and noticed something about the trees that he hadn't before. Their colors were just a little bit off. It was hard to tell at first, since he hadn't been paying particularly close attention to them, but that must have been what was nagging at his subconscious. It was almost as if these trees weren't real, more like they'd been painted . . . .

And the ground and the sky too . . . .

Everything was just a little _too_ bright, a little _too_ intense, as if it all was a piece of strange artwork . . . .

What . . . if that's exactly what it was?

 _Loveless_.

Jim froze in his tracks as he remembered the mad little wizard's technique for using sounds to make it possible for people to step into and out of paintings. Could that be how they had gotten lost? Had Dr. Loveless perfected his technique to the point that he had transported the entire Wanderer into a trap? Switched Washington's rail maps with his own as the bait?

Even without his cotton-tailed game in hand, Jim felt the sudden urge to turn around, go back to the train and warn Arte and the engineers of this possibility. They needed to find a way out of this bizarre territory without further delay. Except . . . when he turned around, Jim was disoriented by the view. The way back didn't seem to be quite the way he'd come. Nothing looked quite right, or sounded entirely right. How could he have gotten even more lost than the train? He'd been walking in a straight line, he was sure of it . . . . And yet . . . . Momentarily alarmed and dizzy from the disorienting landscape, Jim took a step backwards and felt the ground sloping underneath his boot heel. He stepped forward again and turned around quickly, gun raised, trying to be ready for anything.

"Ehhhhh, what's up, Doc?" a strange voice called out.

 _Doc!_

 _Was Loveless here? Nearby?_

Jim searched for the speaker and thought he must be hallucinating. There, on the far side of a large hole in the forest floor that he had nearly stepped into, was the biggest . . . rabbit? . . . Jim had ever seen in his life. But it was nearly equal in height to himself – perhaps even a few inches taller if one considered the ears – and it was standing on its hind legs, just like it was human, chomping on a carrot as if the vegetable were some kind of stogie, and it had white gloves on its front paws. Like the trees and the rest of the forest, the creature had a slightly unnatural look that went beyond those other bizarre characteristics.

 _I must be drugged,_ Jim thought. _Another hallucinogenic formula_. _Or Loveless has trapped me in some sort of children's book illustration . . . ._

"Were you talking to me?" he asked the strange bunny.

"I was!" The rabbit made a tsking sound and shook its head back and forth before walking toward West and shoving the tip of Jim's rifle away with one gloved finger. "If you don't mind my sayin', Mac, you're a little nervous to be walkin' around in these woods with a pop gun! You could get somebody hurt!" The rabbit took another chomp on its carrot before staring back at Jim laconically. "So, ehhh, like I said, what's up? What's a guy like you doin' wandering around here?"

 _Exactly what I'd like to know,_ Jim thought.

"Well, I was hunting rab-" Jim broke off, realizing honesty might not be the best policy with his present company, real or not. But it was already too late. The man-sized bunny had narrowed its eyes, twitched its long ears back and was giving him an unamused frown.

"You was about to say rabbit, weren't you?"

"Well, uh . . . ."

Jim suddenly felt a bit sheepish. As a rule, he didn't eat anything he could hold a conversation with, even if it might be a drug-induced hallucination. The giant rabbit poked one gloved finger into Jim's chest.

"You was! I know a hunter when I sees one! And I'm seein' one right now! So you're hunting rabbit – is that it?" The bunny was so close to Jim now that Jim could smell and feel it's hot, carrot-scented breath on his face. "You know what I say to that, pal? Do you?"

"No, I-"

The rabbit's eyes grew wide again and it got a mischievous grin on its face.

"Goodbye!" it shouted, kicking up its heels and disappearing in the blink of an eye.

Jim rubbed his eyes and stared around in vain, searching for the giant rabbit.

 _At least I_ hope _I'm drugged. I don't want to tell Arte I've gone insane . . . ._

Artemus!

If Loveless was behind all this, then Jim's partner was in just as much danger as Jim was. He _had_ to find a way out of this painted forest and back to the Wanderer before it was too late. Jim might still be Miguelito's main target, but there was no telling what diabolical revenge their archenemy would take on both agents given the chance, and on Orrin and Silas too. Jim tried to reorient himself in the direction that he thought he had left the Wanderer and set out silently once more hoping to reach the train. He hadn't wandered far – not _too_ far, he hoped – when he encountered a sight he normally was prepared for but that this time caught him flatfooted. There, in a small clearing just ahead of him, stood a beautiful woman, looking straight at him and batting her eyes in a flirtatious manner. From the bottom of her pastel hoop skirt to the peak of her beribboned bonnet she was a vision of fair-haired loveliness.

"Whyah, hello, strange-uh," she said coquettishly.

Evidently a southern belle of the charming sort that he had stepped out with on occasion, to judge by her accent. What was she doing here? Was she another victim of this lost, possibly painted, zone, or a native who might show him the way back to the train? Either way he had a good reason for getting to know her better. As he stepped into the clearing, she sidled up to him seductively and gave him another sample of that charming accent.

"Ah have always depended on the kindness of strange-uhs . . . ."

"Uh, West, ma'am," he said, tipping his Stetson to her. "James West."

"Ooohh! Charmed, ah'm sure-uh!"

Her manner suggested that it was something other than mere kindness she wanted from him. She pouted ruby red lips at him and continued to bat her eyes in a way that was downright suggestive. Well, it's not as if he wasn't familiar with an effective technique for winning over local ladies. As they came within arms' reach of one another and tilted their heads, without even learning her name first, he found himself leaning in to embrace her and sample those lips for himself. They were yielding and soft, as he'd thought they would be. More than that, her skin – her cheek was so soft, so fur-

 _Furry?_

Horrified, he pulled back, as with one hand he tore off her bonnet. The blond wig, apparently attached, came up with it to reveal a pair of long ears and a suddenly familiar-looking rabbit face.

"You!" he cried.

"Oops!" the rabbit shrugged. Quick as a wink and with that same impish grin on its face, the giant bunny tore off the remainder of its damsel costume, kicked up its furry heels and bounded off into the forest again, leaving the Secret Service agent almost in a state of shock.

This wasn't a hallucination – this was a nightmare!

 _I kissed a rabbit!_ Jim said to himself, wiping the lipstick off his face and a few bunny hairs along with it. _I can't believe I just kissed a rabbit!_

James West had faced some humiliating situations before, but this one really took the cake. Now he actually hoped that it was all in his head, that he'd been drugged or gone mad somehow, because if Arte or any of their fellow agents ever found out about _this_ . . . .

It couldn't be real. It just couldn't be. This had to be a hallucination, a drug, or . . . . How could he possibly have mistaken that humanoid hare for a lovely lady?

 _I'm going to pinch myself and wake up now. I will wake up!_

Jim closed his eyes and pinched himself, but when he opened his eyes again, he was still lost in that same, strange forest. No sign of the Wanderer or anything familiar. But from a short distance away he heard . . . laughter? Thoroughly unamused himself now, Jim stalked as silently as possible toward the sound. There, at the side of one of the trees, the humanoid rabbit was sitting on the ground, pounding one side of the bark with its gloved right fist and laughing so hard at its own practical joke that it didn't sense his approach.

"What a rube!" the bunny chuckled, wiping tears of laughter out of its eyes. "What an ultra-maroon!" The bunny kept right on laughing until it felt the tip of Jim's rifle press right up against its twitching, whiskered rabbit nose.

"Uhhh . . . ." The rabbit's ears drooped and its eyes grew wider with fear as it realized it was looking straight up the rifle barrel and into the angry glare of the aforementioned ultra-maroon. "Er . . . what's . . . up . . . Doc?"

"My name isn't Doc," Jim growled. "Like I said, it's West. James West. But if you're aligned with a certain other doctor I know . . . ." He let the menace in his manner complete the sentence for him.

The bunny raised its gloved hands in surrender.

"Look, Mac," the rabbit whimpered, "I ain't tryin' to cause trouble! I'm just mindin' my own business and not wantin' to wind up on someone's dinner plate! Besides, you've got it all wrong! It ain't Rabbit Season!"

 _Huh?_ Jim paused, uncertain what to do next.

The bunny tried to shake its head, as much as the tip of the rifle barrel would allow.

"It's Duck Season!"

Jim was glad he didn't have the rifle cocked or an itchy trigger finger when he was startled by another voice shouting off to his left.

" **It ith not!"**

Just when Jim thought his situation couldn't possibly get any weirder, another man-sized animal – a humanoid, black duck, came striding angrily into the clearing. The duck wore no clothing at all, but was tugging at its feathery arms as if rolling up invisible sleeves for a fight. It paid little enough attention to Jim, but looked like it was spoiling for fisticuffs with the rabbit.

"I heard that!" the duck cried accusingly.

The rabbit at least had the good grace to look somewhat abashed.

"Uh, Daffy?" it asked, standing up slowly under Jim's watchful eyes and gun barrel. "What are you doing here?"

"What do you think I'm doing here?" the black duck railed, gesturing at the forest all around them. "I have ath much right to be here ath you!" It lisped as it talked. "Duck Theathon, huh? Thankth for the thour perthimmonth, pal!"

Jim didn't feel merely lost by this conversation or turn of events, he felt practically cast away on a desert island. All desire to hunt anything was forgotten as the two inexplicable talking animals began to argue between themselves about which one he should shoot.

"Duck Season!" the rabbit exclaimed.

"Rabbit Theathon!" the duck retorted.

"Duck Season!"

"Rabbit Theathon!"

"Duck Season!"

"Rabbit Theathon!"

"Rabbit Season!" the bunny agreed.

"Duck Theathon!" the duck retorted.

Jim was so distracted watching the two of them go back and forth and ducking the duck's angry spittle that he never noticed anyone sneaking up on _him_ until the rifle was suddenly knocked from his hands and a thick net came down over his head. Before he could react, he found himself trapped in that net and being lifted up in a tangled bundle by Voltaire's huge, impossibly strong hands. The next laughter he heard sounded far less sane and all too familiar.

"Wrong!" Dr. Miguelito Loveless shouted, coming up from behind Voltaire dressed all in checkered olive and brown hunting outfit and carrying a custom-sized rifle of his own. "It's West Season!"

The malevolent midget pulled the trigger on his little rifle as he pointed it at Jim's face. A small purple cloud enveloped West's head within the net, and he coughed and gave up his struggles against the confining rope. The Secret Service agent slumped unconscious as Voltaire heaved the net, Jim and all, over one shoulder as if it was no more than a carry sack. Then Dr. Loveless cackled again with maniacal glee and scampered, leading his giant assistant off somewhere deeper into the woods while behind them, the rabbit and the duck broke off their argument to watch the trio depart, in crestfallen confusion.

"Well, _that_ isn't how this usually goes!" Bugs Bunny murmured.

"You can thay that again!" Daffy Duck agreed.


	3. The Sinister Clef of an Insane Chef

This time, without pinching himself first, Jim woke up in yet another location. He was in a forested clearing again, but one with a small, ramshackle wooden cabin off to one side. His head ached from the aftereffects of the sleep gas that had been used on him, and as he struggled to move, he found himself tied tight to a large tree trunk that had been left standing in the clearing. He might not have been searched and stripped of all his gadgets while he was unconscious, but it wouldn't make a difference – Loveless had made sure he was immobile and that the bonds were very, very strong indeed. He felt dizzy, disoriented – and helpless.

"Ah, Mr. West, I see you're awake," Dr. Loveless grinned up at his captive foe as Jim struggled to lift his heavy, aching head. The mad doctor had traded his olive drab-and-brown hunting cap for a chef's toque, but he still had the midget rifle in his hands. He tossed it back and forth between his fingers, then held it as if he were going to shoot another dose of the gas at West's head before holding it out crosswise in front of him, smiling with pleasure on a new toy. "You know, I had the oddest idea to make it shoot out a little flag with the word 'bang' on it as well as the gas," Loveless told him. "But then I decided that would be too silly even for this place."

"Let me guess," West murmured, still struggling to clear his head. "This 'place' as you call it is a children's book of some kind." That _would_ explain the anthropomorphic animals, anyway. But Loveless was frowning and shaking his head.

"Oh, no, Mr. West. Nothing so childish as that!" he scolded, setting down the rifle and taking up a very large chef's knife and a sharpening rod. "As you know, I abhor childish behavior! You are correct in suspecting that I've transported us into an illustration using my wondrous sonic technology. But the illustration is no mere fairy tale volume for children! It is something far, far more interesting!"

 _And if I refuse to take the bait, you'll tell me everything I need to know_ , Jim thought. Now as his headache was subsiding and something like lucidity had returned, he tried to get a better view of everything around him. Voltaire stood in the dell too, keeping watch on an enormous bubbling cauldron that Loveless had cooking over a campfire. Given the toque that Loveless had donned, and the chef's knife he was now sharpening, Jim wondered if he was about to be in hot water in more ways than one. Loveless gestured expansively with the knife at the forest all around them and continued on with his monologue, just as Jim knew he would.

"What you see here," Loveless explained, "is an entirely new portal into the realm of art! A whole new world of a sort undreamed of by our society, and discovered by me! The other side of a painting that I pulled into our own reality through the use of an experimental time machine of mine and have found a fantastic way to access!"

"In other words," Jim drawled, "you stole someone else's picture and are trying to take credit for it."

"No, no, no!" Loveless shrieked, stamping his foot down in anger and waving the chef's knife at his prisoner. "That's exactly the type of attitude I would expect _you_ to have, Mr. West, you small-minded interloper! But you are wrong!" The little wizard wasn't just steamingly angry – Jim was surprised to see actual steam seeming to shoot from his ears in his rage. Wherever they were at the moment, it definitely wasn't New Mexico. After the steam drifted away, Loveless struck up an imperious pose, with one hand and the sharpening rod over his chest. "Dr. Miguelito Quixote Loveless is no mere thief! I am an intellectual giant, a creative genius! A-"

"Plagiarist, from the sound of it," Jim added.

Steam shot from Loveless' ears again as he scowled and glared because of the interruption. In spite of the danger he was in, Jim wondered if, with a little more effort, he could actually make flames spout from Loveless' head. That would almost be worth it.

"I'm going to ignore you now," Loveless crossed his little arms in fury, almost slashing one of them in the process, and turned his back on the agent.

 _One hippopotamus, two hippopotamus_ , Jim counted in his head, _three hippopot-_

"Bah!" Dr. Loveless exclaimed. "Why should I waste my time trying to explain the brilliance of my plans to an intellectual flea? To a petty government servling like yourself?"

 _Because you need the audience_ , Jim thought at him.

Sure enough, Loveless began pacing back and forth in front of his captive and explaining everything behind the current situation.

"A time machine, I tell you!" Loveless rounded on West. "Do you think _that's_ someone else's idea? Do you think that anyone besides me could have come up with such a marvelous device? A machine capable of transporting objects from the future into our own time?"

Outwardly Jim did his best to appear imperturbable, but his inner self gave a shudder. The last thing the world needed was a Dr. Loveless with access to technologies even more advanced than his own. Or people.

"True, there are a few additional difficulties still to be worked out before the machine can be of practical use," Loveless admitted with a tilt of his head. "But I'll have _time_ to attend to that! Time which you and your equally meddling partner Mr. Gordon can't stop me from having, now that I've found the perfect place and method to dispose of the two of you! Look around you, Mr. West!" The doctor gestured widely to their surroundings again. "Do you have any idea at all where you are? Do you think the Secret Service is going to have any idea where to look for you? Are you starting to feel afraid, Mr. West? Because no one is ever going to find you again." Loveless chuckled. "The odd painting that I drew in from the future – _which is not the same as stealing! –_ was on a flimsy, transparent piece of material, made of a substance unlike anything we have created yet. But it could nevertheless be bent to my will as much as my fingers when traced over by my special pigments and subjected to my earlier sonic discovery. It led me to this new world! This strange, brave, new world! A world I believe you found as distracting and maddening as I first did!"

As if Loveless needed any help being maddened . . . . Jim was certainly uneasy and wondering if there was even a chance of getting a warning to Arte somehow, before Arte fell into Loveless' trap too. He could feel some of the gadgets and tools still bristling on his person, if only he could get at them . . . .

"You will, of course, have noticed some of the local flora and fauna," Loveless continued. "But you haven't made the careful study of them that I have. You cannot imagine, with that pea-sized, antiquated caveman brain of yours the sheer variety of living creatures found in this land that my study of sound has given me access to! There are more than mere talking animals here, Mr. West – there are monsters! Big, hairy ones! And witches and vampires too! Even some of the trees and the rocks seem to have a life of their own in this place! The very hills are alive, Mr. West! Alive with the sound of music! _My_ music!"

 _Oh, please,_ Jim thought. _Don't let him start singing again! Anything but that!_

Thankfully there didn't appear to be a harpsichord here, or Antoinette either - only Voltaire dumbly watching the cauldron bubble as Dr. Loveless waddled over to a small trestle table, set down the knife and sharpening rod and picked up a large wooden spoon. The mad genius gave the contents of the cauldron a stir, sipped a sample of the contents, swished the liquid around in his mouth for a few seconds, considering, then smiled beatifically.

"Nearly ready!" he said to Voltaire before returning to where Jim was tied to be fit.

"Taking up a new hobby?" Jim asked. "I thought you let others do all the cooking for you."

Loveless beamed at him in a way Jim knew couldn't be good.

"Not on this occasion," he laughed. "That is normally true, of course. But the most special dishes deserve to be prepared by the most special and talented of _chefs de cuisine_ , don't you agree?"

Jim nodded slightly, his head being the only part of him that he could move.

"It was a small matter," Loveless said, "once I realized the potential of the strange piece of artwork that I discovered – _not stole!_ – to use one of my other inventions to enlarge it by several feet and position it in a carefully chosen location once I had substituted your engineers' real rail maps with my own. The translucent quality of the material around the edges allowed for it to be the perfect optical illusion." The doctor snickered at his own brilliance. "You and your crew didn't just fall for my trap, Mr. West! You drove that fancy little train of yours straight into it!" He smacked his lips in satisfaction. "An entirely new world before me, with a horde of monsters, witches, ghouls and goblins of every sort I can recruit for my personal army to reconquer California! And an army, as you know, marches on its stomach!"

Something in Loveless' next smile disturbed West more profoundly than anything else the doctor had said so far. The agent was about to be in hot water, all right.

 _He can't possibly mean . . . ._

"Some say that revenge is a dish best served cold, Mr. West, but I intend to serve it positively scalding! You've made me stew time and time again with your interference in my work, but now I will make _you_ into stew! A satisfying Secret Service salmagundi to offer up to my new and monstrous minions! You should feel honored that I will be preparing you personally! And then," he chortled to further torment his prisoner, "I'll follow it up with a Gordon goulash, or perhaps Gordon gratiné!"

Jim did not feel honored.

"You'll never get away with this," the agent vowed.

"Really?" Dr. Loveless chuckled and clapped his hands together. "I beg to differ! But you'll be the one doing all of the begging soon! Only it won't do you any good, Mr. West! Who do you think can possibly save you now?"


	4. Rabbit and Duck to the Rescue

Bugs Bunny was a rabbit who kept his own council and knew his own mind. He knew what he liked and didn't like, and what he was seeing right now, he didn't like. He couldn't hear all of the conversation taking place in the clearing below him, in spite of his large, keen ears, but he had heard enough. The Elmer-sized hunter capering about in a chef's hat and waving a knife at his prisoner was clearly several lettuce leaves shy of a salad bowl, and his gigantic servant reminded Bugs an awful lot of some big, hairy monsters he'd known. That was bad enough. But worse than that was what these strange beings _were_ , what James West was also, and what that meant for the captive West. Never let it be said that Bugs Bunny was one to ignore evil when it intruded on _his_ carrot patch! This situation was downright hare-raising.

The rabbit snuck back through the tree canopy to arrive at the other dell where Daffy was still waiting next to West's fallen rifle. Daffy gave him an impatient glare, tapping a webbed foot as Bugs climbed down from one of the trees.

"Well?" the duck demanded. "What'th the big deal? Bethides working with amateurth who don't know their lineth?"

Bugs shook his head.

"Those ain't amateurs, Daffy, and they don't belong here neither. Didn't you notice what they looked like?" The bunny bent down to examine the rifle where it was lying on the ground.

"Thure I notithed! What a bunch of weird, nearly hairleth apeth! They're ath bizarre ath Chuck!"

"You got that right – that's because they're the same species as Chuck," Bugs frowned. "I think they're hoo-mans!"

Daffy scoffed.

"Hoo-mans? Oh, c'mon, Bugs! What would a hoo-man be doing in thith plathe?"

Bugs stood up again, holding the rifle very carefully, pointing it down at the ground. Daffy took a few steps back just to be on the less unsafe side.

"I don't know how they got here," Bugs shook his head again. "But I think that West guy is in real trouble. The other two are intendin' to cook him and eat him!"

"Tho what?" Daffy snorted. "In cathe you didn't notithe, withe guy, he wath intending to thoot and eat one of uth! I hate it when that happenth!"

"No. I don't think so."

Bugs tightened one white-gloved finger on the trigger mechanism of the rifle. Daffy ducked and stuck his fingers in the side of his head, but nothing happened. No loud bang, nothing.

"See?" Bugs said. "He was only bluffin'! He didn't want to fire this thing at all! He didn't cock it!"

"Bugs!" Daffy stared at him wide-eyed. "You can't thay that! Thith ith a kidth thow! I mean, truckloadth of gratuitouth violenthe ith one thing, but . . . ."

Bugs rolled his eyes and looked straight at the readers of this story.

"Sorry, folks!" he whispered from behind one gloved hand, then gave the foul-minded fowl a quick slap. "I mean, he didn't pull the hammer back so it would shoot! He wasn't tryin' to kill us after all! But they're gonna kill _him_ if we don't do somethin'! And he's a _hoo-man_ , Daffy!"

"And again, I thay tho what? Pfffththhh!" The stubborn duck put his fists on his hips and made a raspberry with his beak and tongue. "Why not let him get hith jutht dethertth?"

"Because . . . ." Bugs gave a sidelong glance at the readers of this story and then leaned over to whisper something into one of Daffy's ear-like areas.

"Uh huh." The duck listened intently. Little by little, the cynical cast of his features changed into a much more dismayed expression. He gulped. "You mean . . . ?"

Bugs nodded and whispered some more. Daffy gaped in horror and ran a nervous finger under the band of white at this neck, gulping again.

" _Permanently?"_ The duck was appalled. "How do people _live_ like that?"

"They don't," Bugs replied, arms crossed over his chest. "That's the problem. That's why we gotta stop those two bad eggs before it's too late!"

Daffy nodded. Bugs would get no further argument from him. The duck wiped a handful of sweat from his brow.

"I'm thure glad _I'm_ not a hoo-man!" he exclaimed. "But what are we gonna do?"

"Listen," Bugs said. "I got a plan . . . ." The rabbit began whispering some more. "So first we . . . ."

Daffy whispered a question back.

"And then we . . . ."

"Uh huh . . . ."

Then they both looked up and once again realized this story was being read.

"Uh, if you don't mind, folks, _this_ plan has to remain top secret!" And with a yank on the rope pull that had appeared from out of nowhere, Bugs brought down a canvas sheet to conceal the rest of the conversation.

WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW

"I have to admit, Mr. West," Loveless said as he set down the wooden spoon and picked up a strip of cloth from the trestle table, "I _have_ made one small error."

"Only one?" Jim retorted, still trying to find a way to untie himself. "I can think of several."

But this time the diminutive doctor wasn't allowing himself to be baited. He continued to smile as he handed the cloth to Voltaire.

"Perhaps not so much a mistake as a misstatement," Loveless corrected. "You see, I referred earlier to your begging for mercy, and while that sound _would_ be music to my ears, I simply can't abide loud noises, such as screaming. So before I can instruct Voltaire in the proper method of filleting you, I'm afraid I'm going to need to have him shut you up."

It seemed that Jim's luck had finally run out as Voltaire, cloth in hand, looked over at him with a menacing grin as vicious as any Loveless could have managed to wear.

"Of course," Jim said to Loveless, "I should have realized you were going to make your henchman do all the dirty work when I didn't see a stepladder." He was rewarded for his bravado by seeing the tiniest wisp of smoke and flame rising up above the doctor's forehead. "I'm surprised, though – you usually go in for shortcuts."

This time a burst of fire did appear above Loveless' head for a second, scorching the edges of his toque, accompanied by blasts of steam coming out of his ears in a way that he still seemed oblivious to.

"Voltaire!" Loveless snapped, pointing angrily at the prisoner.

The big man advanced toward the tree trunk, twisting and gripping the piece of cloth more like a garotte than a soon-to-be gag.

"And _now_ , Mr. West," Loveless grumbled through tightly clenched teeth, "any more famous last words?"

" **CUT!** " a voice yelled from one side of the clearing.

Loveless looked like he'd been getting ready to do just that, reaching for the sharpened chef's knife. But he and Voltaire were halted in mid-motion as two bizarre figures suddenly strode onto the scene from behind the wooden cabin. The speaker, the taller and faster of the two, wore a colorful beret on his head, tilted at an angle, dark-colored glasses and a bright and garishly patterned shirt. One gloved hand held a large, funnel-shaped speaking trumpet while the other hand gestured for the second figure to follow. This second figure, evidently an assistant of some kind, in a bigger, floppier beret and a smock, carried a large bowl of some powdered substance and what appeared to be an oversize cosmetic puff. For the moment, all Loveless and Voltaire could do was stare at these new arrivals, dumbfounded.

 _Arte?_ Jim wondered, not knowing where a second rescuer might have come from or why his partner might have adopted one of these outlandish disguises. But then he became nearly as astonished as Loveless when he saw from behind the cottontail of a very big bunny sticking out from the clothing of the figure holding the speaking trumpet. It wasn't possible, and yet . . . . _The . . . rabbit?_ Shaking his head a little as if to clear his vision, Jim now realized that the other, smaller figure might be the duck he had seen earlier. The humanoid talking animals appeared to be almost as skillful as Artemus at disguise, if a little less attentive to detail. Now that he knew what to look for, he caught a glimpse of a dark, feathery rather than fleshy arm on the second figure. And how could he not have noticed the beak? Maybe something about the strangeness of this place?

Before Loveless and Voltaire could recover from this unexpected turn of events, the disguised bunny took up a position right in front of Loveless and raised the megaphone. As Loveless attempted to back away, Bugs pointed the large funnel end at him and yelled into the narrow part at the top of his lungs.

" **I SAID CUT!"**

The sound came out with such force that Loveless' curly gray hair was blown backwards almost to the point of straightening and the singed chef's toque went flying. The half-deafened mad scientist dropped the knife, dropped to his knees and covered both ears with his hands while staring up at this new interloper in dismay.

" **When I say CUT! I mean CUT!** " the rabbit continued to yell, causing Loveless to wince and flinch even more. Bugs glared down at him and tapped the ground impatiently with one large foot. "You think this is a wrap? This isn't even a muff!" The 'director' yanked Loveless to his feet with one sharp tug of a gloved hand on the doctor's hunting jacket, yanked at its collar and then pointed to the fallen toque. "What are we tryin' to say here? Are we tryin' to say chef or are we tryin' to say hunter? And that pasty complexion you got? Tsk! **MAKEUP**!"

Daffy had taken his own position in between Voltaire and his intended victim, but Voltaire seemed frozen with indecision about what to do next. To one side, past the meddler with the powder bowl was the hated James West, at long last unable to get away. But on his other side, Voltaire's master appeared to be under attack. Rapid thought processes were not the giant's strong point, but he had his priorities. Voltaire dropped the gag and began to lurch toward Dr. Loveless and the taller interloper. The pest with the powder bowl was faster, smacking Voltaire full in the face with the cosmetic puff and blinding the henchman with a cloud of powder.

"Coming right up, Thir!" the 'makeup assistant' responded before running up to Dr. Loveless and swatting him not just once but several times with the powder puff, forcing the doctor to drop to his knees again in a blinded coughing and sneezing fit.

Voltaire, coughing himself, wiped his eyes and attempted to take action rather than a powder, but became confused when the 'director' turned the megaphone on him and yelled.

" **HOLD IT RIGHT THERE!** "

Voltaire reached for the megaphone, but in a flash of movement it was gone, and Bugs, instead of being right in front of him, was now on top of one of his massive shoulders.

"Saaayy! This is more like it!" the disguised rabbit exclaimed, squeezing one of the big man's biceps. "Anyone ever tell you you've got Tarzan potential? Or maybe King Kong? You have such star quality I could kiss you!" Bugs puffed up his lips again and moved as if he were about to plant a kiss on Voltaire's kisser. Outraged, the henchman attempted to hit him, only to wind up punching himself in the jaw as the rabbit disappeared once more. Dazed, the giant began to stumble backwards, now to have the duck in disguise pull his pants down around his ankles and give him a push so that Voltaire sat down with a splash in the bubbling cauldron.

"Ehhh, what's up?" Bugs asked him. "What's cookin'?"

The big henchman gave a very un-Voltaire-like shriek as he realized that what was cookin' was him. He managed a twenty foot long-jump out of the kettle, then smashed into the ground, red-faced first and holding his scalded rump with both hands. He appeared almost ready to pass out, and little, tweeting birds began circling his head.

"That oughtta take care of those two for now," Bugs snickered to Daffy. "Let's go and free Mr. West!"

Together, the disguised duck and rabbit raced toward the tree trunk, neither of them noticing the small, hand-held gadget that Loveless took out of one pocket and pressed a button on. Just as they got within several feet of the captive Secret Service agent, a concealed device resembling a huge, padded bear trap lined with netting snapped up out of the ground, trapping them both.

"Well this is a revoltin' development," Bugs said, struggling unsuccessfully to pull himself loose. Daffy had no better luck.

Jim watched in dismay, unable to do anything to help them, as Loveless wiped the powder off his face, got to his feet and grinned menacingly at his two new prisoners.

"Really, Mr. Gordon," Loveless sniggered at Bugs. "Did you think I wouldn't prepare for your pathetic attempt to rescue your partner?" He waited until Voltaire, too, had managed to stagger to his feet before approaching these snagged meddlers. But he was in for a surprise when Voltaire lifted him up so he could snatch off Bugs' dark glasses and beret. Once again, the rest of the disguise seemed to fall away and the bunny's tall ears popped up. "You're not Artemus Gordon!" the doctor exclaimed.

"And you ain't exactly Claude Rains yourself, Bub!" the bunny retorted, glaring.

"Why not let them go?" Jim called out to Loveless from the tree trunk. "It's me you're after, remember?"

The mad genius shook his head and made a tsking sound.

"Why, Mr. West," the doctor gloated, "I suppose I should expect that sort of tender-hearted plea from a do-gooder like you. But you don't seriously expect me to do any such thing, do you? After all this time I thought you knew me better than that."

 _I do_ , Jim thought, but he'd had to make the effort anyway. Now his would-be rescuers might wind up sharing his fate. As if to confirm this, Loveless had Voltaire grab Bugs and Daffy by the scruffs of their necks before he used his control device to reset the trap. On the doctor's orders, the giant bore them toward the tree trunk to be tied up beside West.

"You're desthpicable!" Daffy spat back at the diminutive villain.

"Flattery will get you nowhere," Loveless grinned.


	5. Loveless Season

"Well _thith_ ith a fine kettle of fisth," Daffy lisped sarcastically.

Jim had to agree. In fact, only the damage done to the contents of another kettle had delayed his meeting a filleted fate this long. Unfortunately, the foiled rescue attempt meant that two other currently living beings were going to suffer along with him. That made the present situation worse. The rabbit and duck were tied to the tree trunk just as tightly as Jim was. From their mutual vantage point they could do little more than watch as Dr. Loveless fussed over the cauldron while Voltaire struggled to relight the fire that his gluteus maximal splashdown had put out.

"Thanks for trying to save me," Jim told the other two. "Sorry I got you into this mess."

"Ehhh, not your fault," Bugs told him. The rabbit wasn't entirely willing to let Jim off the hook, though, giving him a keen sideways glance. "Not so much fun bein' on someone else's dinner menu, is it?"

"No," West admitted. "Sorry."

Unfortunately, it appeared that Voltaire had succeeded in getting the soggy wood under the cauldron started again and Loveless, apparently satisfied that no harm had been done to his master recipe, waddle-walked over to them to gloat.

"It won't be too much longer now, Mr. West." Loveless steepled his long fingers together over his chest. "I'll finally be revenged on you and then Mr. Gordon and soon your entire meddling Secret Service! With my army of monstrous allies, I will take over California, and then, who knows? The United States next and then the world!" he cackled.

"Thay! I'm impreththed!" Daffy began staring admiringly, but not at Loveless. "How come you didn't tell uth you're an undercover thecret agent?"

Jim had to resist the urge to roll his eyes, but Loveless was infuriated not to be the subject of Daffy's admiration.

"Not for very much more he isn't!" the doctor hissed. "And you don't have much time yourself, duck! You'll do nicely with some orange sauce! And as for _you_ ," Loveless turned to his longest-eared captive, "after I've had Voltaire finish skinning you and cutting off your feet to distribute as good luck charms, I think I'll have him throw the rest of you onto the garbage heap!" He snickered. "I'm not sure about the monsters, but I never have been able to abide finding hare in my food."

Bugs' ears flattened, and the rabbit's eyes narrowed into angry slits.

"Of course, you realize, Doc, that this means war!"

Loveless unclenched his fingers, waved his hands in the air and made a mocking imitation of being scared.

"Ooh, I'm so frightened!" he chortled. Then he danced a little victory jig in front of his prisoners.

"Bugs," Daffy whispered nervously, "doth thith . . . doth thith mean we'll be watching . . . . when Mithter Wetht . . . ." the duck gulped. "When he . . . you know . . . ?"

"Not yet it doesn't!" Bugs whispered defiantly. "Shhh! I have a plan."

Jim heard the whispered conversation as well. He wished he could come up with some ideas himself. Whatever the rabbit's plan was, time was running out. The fire under the cauldron was going well now, and the remaining cooking liquid steaming. Even the bunny was looking a little perturbed as Loveless ordered Voltaire to pick up the piece of cloth he'd dropped earlier and use it to silence Jim.

"Oh, woe is us!" Bugs lamented. "Woe! Woe! Whoah!"

Loveless growled and grimaced at the noise, as Daffy, following Bugs' lead, began keening just as loudly. Even Jim found the sound wince-inducing. Loveless stuck his fingers in his ears and scowled at the rabbit and duck in disgust.

"We need more gags!" he shouted.

Immediately, cream pies appeared from out of nowhere and began smacking him and Voltaire in the face, while all of the daisies in the clearing began shooting jets of seltzer water. Voltaire, temporarily blinded, stumbled against the cauldron, causing it to slosh liquid again. While he hopped around howling with a hot foot, the spilled contents and the daisies' seltzer barrage made the cookfire go out once more.

"You said it, Doc – I didn't!" Bugs snickered.

Flames burst up from Loveless' head once again, briefly, burning away cream pie remnants before another squirt from a daisy extinguished his hair. Red-faced, he glared at the bunny, almost too angry to speak.

"You . . . you . . . !" he stammered, opening and closing his fists. The enraged villain raced over to the trestle table and snatched up the chef's knife.

 _Uh oh_ , Jim thought. Loveless was so angry right now, it appeared he wasn't going to wait for Voltaire to do the skinning. But Jim bet he could get under his arch-enemy's skin first. He started grinning and laughing. Bugs and Daffy gaped at him as though he was out of his mind, but just as Jim intended, Loveless was distracted from what would have been a nasty attack on the wisecracking rabbit. And Loveless, predictably, was not content with swift expedients where James West was concerned.

"You think this is _funny_ , Mr. West?" The doctor threw the knife back down, exactly like a child throwing a tantrum. "You think you should be _laughing_ at a time like this?"

"How can I not?" Jim chuckled. "Here you try to convince everyone you're some hotshot scientist and you don't even know how to light a fire! You need Voltaire to do it for you! Do you need him to tie your shoelaces for you too?"

In fact, the huge henchman was having a miserable time trying to restart the double-doused blaze, as Jim could see. But Loveless might be able to ignite it with his own head in another minute or so. The doctor couldn't resist taking the bait this time.

"I do so know how to light fires! Don't be absurd!" he snapped. "I simply use Voltaire to handle the menial tasks that are beneath my dignity!"

 _It would take an earthworm with a shovel to be beneath your dignity right now_ , Jim thought.

"Sure," Jim snickered, doing his best to sound skeptical. "Right."

Bugs and Daffy, catching on, began to snicker a little too. Loveless, frustrated, made a backwards glance at the cauldron, where Voltaire was still having no luck getting the fire relit. None of this was making him look good.

"Why, I light fires all the time!" the midget scientist bragged desperately. "It's mere child's play for a man of science like myself!"

"Uh huh," Jim laughed. "I'll bet a firefly could do a better job than you!"

Loveless scrunched up his features in speechless aggravation, then stormed back over to the cauldron to show Voltaire – and West – how it was done. That meant the prisoners had a little more of a delay at least, since Jim could tell even at a distance that the firewood and firepit looked very, very wet. But would Arte be able to find them and effect a rescue? Would Arte even be looking yet? Jim had lost all sense of what time it was. Bugs' next words seemed to acknowledge that they'd never get out of this trap on their own.

"Daffy! We need you to go and get help!"

"And how do you propothe I do that, thmartypantth?" the duck grimaced, struggling against the ropes. "I'm thtuck jutht like you are!"

"I know," Bugs sniffled, suddenly sounding sad for a change. "It's just that when I think about poor Mr. West's fate here, it reminds me of," he sniffled again and raised his eyes heavenward, "of the ending to that film, _Old Yeller_."

"Aw, no, Bugs!" Daffy shook his head and his jaw drooped. "Don't talk about that! You know that movie alwayth maketh me go to pietheth!"

"I can't help it," Bugs sobbed and sniffled, whiskers twitching. "The way Old Yeller keeps saving his family over and over again . . . the way he rescues little Arliss from a bear . . . and . . . ."

Jim had no idea what they were talking about, but a single tear trickled down the rabbit's furry cheek. Tears began forming in Daffy's eyes too.

". . . and saves Travis from all sorts of danger . . . ." the rabbit's voice began quivering with more sobs. "And how much Travis comes to love Old Yeller . . . but then . . . . then . . . ."

"Waaahhhh!" the duck cried out loud, and to Jim's shock, suddenly went all to pieces – literally. In a shower of black body parts, the duck came free of the ropes binding him and landed as a little pile of black feathers with a beak, two teary eyes and a band of white sticking up out of it. More horrifying still, the separated parts appeared to be very much alive.

"Good!" Bugs said, just as suddenly dry-eyed and unsentimental. The rabbit looked down at the collection of duck parts. "Now pull yourself together, Daffy, and go get Elmer! We need Elmer Fudd!"

" _That_ nitwit?" the disembodied duck beak asked. "What do you want with him? What good can he do?"

"Just trust me on this!" Bugs urged. "Pull yourself together and bring him back here! Fast!"

And right before Jim's eyes, a broom and dustpan appeared from out of nowhere and swept the disassembled creature into a dustpan of duck that trundled itself off into the woods somehow. Jim gaped in disbelief.

"Ehhh, he'll be fine, Mr. West," Bugs told him. "We do that sort of thing all the time. It's you I'm worried about." The rabbit squirmed in the ropes, still unable to free itself by the same method. "It's just I don't go to pieces as easily as Daffy does."

Jim tried squirming himself with all his strength, but it was no use. He still couldn't escape.

"I've got a knife in the back of my jacket collar," Jim gritted his teeth with frustration. "If only I could get at it . . . !"

"Well, why di'nt you say so?" Bugs grinned. "Maybe I can reach it!"

The odd woodland creature was full of another surprise as its long right ear reached over to try and pull out the knife. Now Jim had to resist the urge to squirm as the tickly rabbit ear poked around near the back of his neck before finding its target. Using that prehensile ear, Bugs drew the small knife and began sawing at the ropes holding Jim.

"Aren't you going to free yourself first?" Jim asked.

"Nuh-uh," the rabbit told him. "The way I see it, you've got a lot more to lose here than I do!"

Watching the bunny working so hard to rescue him, Jim felt doubly abashed at his earlier behavior. He was definitely going to have to disappoint his partner's culinary dreams this time.

But time was what they didn't have enough of . . . .

Loveless had succeeded in rekindling the cookfire after all, and any minute now, he'd be returning to torment his intended monster munchies. Jim's little knife succeeded in cutting the first rope, and Jim could feel the other loops around him loosening. If only . . . .

As if they didn't have enough to worry about, a big, hairy monster with a vaguely heart-shaped head came shambling into the clearing, wearing the oddest little shoes on its feet that Jim had ever seen. A _hungry_ big, hairy monster, smacking its lips and looking for something to eat, evidently drawn by the scent of Loveless' cooking broth.

"In just a short while, my sweet," Loveless smiled at the behemoth. "I'm going to prepare for you the most exquisitely butchered bourguignon in the . . . WEST!" The 'chef's' sales pitch changed to an angry shout as he looked over at the tree trunk and realized what his prisoners were up to. "Voltaire! Stop him!"

Jim was still fighting to free his arms and wondering how he was going to save his new friend too, while Loveless scrambled over to where he had stashed his mini-gas rifle. He'd have to get close to West to gas him again, but Jim's little sleeve derringer wasn't a very good long- range weapon either and probably couldn't manage to do much more than sting the big, hairy monster. The two problems seemed to take care of themselves, though, as the hungry monster, not willing to wait, gulped up Loveless' little rifle straight out of his hands using its tongue, swallowed, let out a huge, purple belch and then sat down on the ground hard with more of the little tweeting birds circling its head.

"You fool!" Loveless cried up at the monster. "Look what you've done!" But the monster appeared not to be listening, as its eyes remained crossed and its gigantic huge head swayed in time to the little birds' song.

Voltaire, meanwhile, reached down to grab – and possibly tear off - Jim's head as the Secret Service agent tried to free his legs. But the sudden crack of a gunshot in the clearing brought him and everyone else to a halt. A hunter, similar in height to Dr. Loveless but with a disproportionately much larger head, came running in from the woods, followed by Daffy.

"Wooks wike I got here just in time, Mr. Duck!" the hunter exclaimed. "You were wight! There are monsters in this forest!"

"I'm no monster!" the villainous doctor shouted at him. "I'm Dr. Miguelito Loveless!"

The hunter gave him a pitying look.

"Aw, I'm sowwy, Mister." Elmer Fudd shook his head. "No one should be wuvless!"

"Oh, brother," Daffy murmured, as he and Jim took advantage of the distraction to untie Jim all the way and start untying Bugs.

"Not wuvless!" Miguelito yelled. "Loveless! Loveless! And you are interfering in my work!"

Elmer looked around in confusion, trying to figure out just what sort of work he was interfering in.

"Ehhhh, good thing you showed up, Elmer," Bugs said, chewing on a carrot that he had mystically gotten from somewhere. The rabbit used the greens end of the carrot to point at Loveless. "This guy was tryin' to hunt hoo-man beans, like Mr. West here, and he doesn't even have a license."

Elmer's eyes grew wide and he shook his head.

"I don't think there _is_ a wicense to hunt hoo-mans!" the shocked hunter gasped.

"I don't need a wicense – I mean _license_ – to kill Mr. West! I'm the world's greatest genius! I can do whatever I want!" Loveless screamed at them. "Voltaire, get them!"

But Voltaire was having problems of his own. Daffy had dived into an opening in Voltaire's shirt and was now causing the giant to wriggle and giggle and slap at himself trying to get Daffy out. The duck popped out of Voltaire's shirt collar, armed with an old-fashioned squeeze bulb perfume applicator labeled 'monster musk'.

"Woo-hoo, woo-hoo!" Daffy called, squeezing the bulb and hitting Voltaire with a huge misting of the spray before jumping away to safety.

The confused henchman started sniffing himself to determine what sort of scent he'd been hit with just as the big, hairy monster rose to its tiny feet, deeply sniffed the air also and began looking at Voltaire in a whole new – and to Voltaire, terrifying – way. It started making cooing sounds and smoochy faces at him. Voltaire, with another very un-Voltaire like shriek, ignored Dr. Loveless for once and took off into the forest at a dead run with the big, hairy monster in hot pursuit, leaving a little trail of heart symbols in its wake.

With the odds of the scenario now drastically changed, Dr. Loveless began to back away from Elmer, who was giving him a stormy gaze.

"I may not be a genius," the hunter said, stating the obvious. "But even I know you can't hunt without a wicense!"

"And that ain't all," Bugs commented. "You should have heard some of the things this guy was sayin' about your little Elmira!"

"What!" Elmer growled. "What was he saying?"

Bugs leaned down and whispered into Elmer's ear as the hunter's face went past angry, getting redder and redder, and geysers of steam began shooting out of his ears.

"He what!" Elmer barked, raising his gun. "Why you . . . you . . . !"

"Don't listen to him, you idiot!" Loveless shouted at Elmer, while Jim watched and had to hide a big smile behind his hand at this textbook display of the Miguelito Loveless School of Tact and Diplomacy. Jim would have stepped in to arrest his archenemy if he hadn't still been numb and getting pins and needles in his legs from being tied up for so long. It was all he could do not to fall over laughing though as Loveless took off as fast as his little legs would carry him, while equally short Elmer pursued, intent on giving Loveless' backside a taste of buckshot. Daffy showed no such reservations, rolling on the ground and laughing himself practically back into pieces.

"Ain't I a stinker?" Bugs snickered. "That oughtta fix those two! But just in case it doesn't, Daffy and me have a whole lot of other friends we'll introduce Mr. I-Can-Do-Anything-I-Want to so he don't make any more trouble here!"

Daffy nodded agreement, wiping away tears of laughter as he stood up and waved bye-bye in Voltaire and Loveless' fleeing direction. All was well that ended well – almost.

"Thank you," Jim said solemnly, shaking hands with Bugs and Daffy. "You saved my life."

"Alwayth happy to be of thervice to our country!" Daffy said, giving him a smart salute.

"Anytime," Bugs added, "provided you don't wanna hunt rab. . . ."

"Never again!" Jim promised, holding up both hands. "I've learned my lesson! Now if I can just find my way back to the train and figure out a way for us to get out of here . . . ."

"I think we can help you with that too," Bugs told him. "Plus, I've got something _way_ better for you to eat than rabbit!" Bugs gestured for Jim to follow as he and Daffy headed away from Loveless' hideout in the clearing.

Later, as they waved Jim goodbye with the Wanderer visible in the distance, Daffy waited until the Secret Service agent was nearly gone from sight before turning to Bugs with a worried expression.

"Uh, Bugs, what you thaid before, you know, about hoo-mans . . . ."

"Yeah, Daffy?"

"Well . . . if _Chuck_ ith a hoo-man and _he_ . . . ." Daffy was sweating now. "Doth that mean that _we_ . . . ?"

"Nah," Bugs reassured him. "Chuck told me he's got that all worked out. We'll be fine. Honest."

The duck mopped his brow and sighed with relief.

"Thank heaventh for thmall favorth! Like that and the fact that it'th not Duck Theathon, it'th Rabbit Theathon!"

"Duck Season!" Bugs countered.

"Rabbit Theathon!"

"Duck Season!"

"Rabbit . . . .


	6. Tag - YOU'RE IT!

"Jim! Thank heavens!" Artemus Gordon cried, rushing up to his partner as West walked toward the train. "Do you have any idea how worried I've been? I've been wandering around these woods for hours looking for you, buddy! I thought you'd gotten lost! I-" Any other words temporarily caught in Arte's throat as he got a good look at the object Jim was carrying. It definitely wasn't a rabbit. "That . . . is one very big carrot you've got there."

Jim nodded as he thrust the voluminous vegetable into Arte's hands.

"You think the carrots are big, you should see the rabbits!" Jim told him. "I've got something better." He pulled out a map Bugs had drawn for him. "Directions for how to get us out of this looney place Dr. Loveless lured us into."

"Loveless!"

"It's a long story," Jim said, not realizing that technically it was a short story. "Right now we need to get this map to Orrin and Silas and get the Wanderer and ourselves back where we belong – which is _not_ here!"

Within minutes, the Wanderer was speeding up the tracks and taking a turn that would lead them back to Albequerque. It wasn't the city Jim and Arte had intended to wind up in, but for the moment they'd take it – and with gratitude. Feeling another sort of gratitude, Jim suggested to Arte that they not have rabbit or duck for dinner again – ever. Arte, content to wait for an explanation after what must have been some kind of ordeal for his partner, shrugged agreement and murmured something to Jim about looking for a recipe for carrot tagine. Jim yawned and stretched and lay down on one of the varnish car's sofas to take a badly needed nap after what had to have been one of the longest and most bizarre days of his entire life, for which the bar was already practically stratospheric.

Up in the driving section of the locomotive, Orrin Cobb kept a mostly steady hand on the controls. He knew by now that working for the Secret Service meant seeing some pretty strange things, but as the train headed back into desert territory and toward a tunnel . . . the engineer rubbed his eyes and looked at Silas, sitting grim-faced and close-mouthed in the seat next to him. He wondered if Silas had seen it too. The coyote that looked like it was standing upright on roller skates with a fireworks rocket of some kind strapped to its back. Orrin could have sworn that the coyote was roller skating along the train tracks, and that it had started skating a whole lot faster as it turned its head and saw the train coming down the line toward the tunnel. But Orrin had looked at Silas for just the crucial moment before the darkness of the tunnel enveloped them along with a small thud.

"Why did you say that?" Orrin asked.

"Say what?" the other man snapped. "Watch where we're driving!"

"Say thuffering thuccotash!"

" _I_ didn't say thuffering thuccotash," Silas answered. "I thought _you_ said thuffering thuccotash!"

Orrin shook his head slightly and went back to keeping his eyes riveted on where the train was headed, relieved as it seemed to burst through not just the tunnel back into the familiar New Mexico desert but through some sort of filmy haze as well, just as Jim had told them it should. Neither man paid any attention to the black and white cat that strolled back toward the stable car. Cats wandered onto the Wanderer all the time in search of mice, and Jim and Artemus both liked cats, so Orrin and Silas learned to put up with it.

Neither the engineers nor the exhausted elite agents of the Secret Service heard or otherwise noticed the final sound/visual distortion as the Wanderer broke through into its own reality. As the very back railed entrance to the varnish car made its transition through Dr. Loveless' sound distortion zone, one final effect of his dimension-warping machinery briefly appeared in evidence, a short, merry, swelling melody sounded as a set of concentric red/orange rings flashed against the back of the train and a small pig appeared in the center, waving cheerfully to the readers of this story.

"Ah-buh-DEE, Ah-buh-DEE, Ah-buh-DEE, TH-THAT'S ALL, FOLKS!"


End file.
